


The Prince's Own

by Quasar



Category: The Prince Commands
Genre: M/M, Yuletide, challenge:New Year Resolutions, recipient:torch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-05-10
Updated: 2005-05-10
Packaged: 2017-10-07 16:36:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/66989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quasar/pseuds/Quasar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prince Michael Karl learns lessons about life and love as he tries to find his place in the royal court of Morvania.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Prince's Own

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a series of missing scenes from the book by Andre Norton, each scene starting with a direct quote from the book in italics. The story may be confusing for those who haven't read the book, but if you want to try there is a spoilery note at the bottom of the story which will help clarify part of it.
> 
> This fic now available in [Russian](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3621054) translated by Greenmusik!

  


## The Prince's Own

 

Fandom: [The Prince Commands](http://yuletidetreasure.org/get_fandom_quicksearch.cgi?Fandom=The%20Prince%20Commands)

 

Written for: torch in the New Year Resolutions Challenge 2005

by [Quasar](http://www.yuletidetreasure.org/cgi-bin/contact.cgi?filename=13/theprinces)

 

_The American attracted him, but he had a queer feeling . . ._

Michael Karl lay in the warm feather bed at the Crown Inn, watching  
the flicker of the dying fire. A short while ago he had been  
exhausted; now his mind was racing and his body, though aching, felt  
rather awake as well. One part of his body in particular didn't seem  
to want to rest.

It had started when the American was bandaging his feet, of all things  
\- those sure fingers holding him firmly in a way no one ever had, as  
long as he could recall. The Colonel had only ever touched him for  
punishment, and others had touched him for instruction, but when had  
anyone ever touched Michael Karl to care for him? Not since his nurse  
was sent away when he was five or six, he thought.

But Ericson had held his feet, and soothed his pain, and then  
proceeded to undress him without hesitation. Fortunately the Cross of  
St. Sebastian had distracted the man while Michael Karl had squirmed  
out of his wet pants and into the borrowed pajama bottoms, and nothing  
embarrassing had been revealed. But he still received help with the  
pajama coat, and Ericson's warm fingers brushing across his bare  
shoulder only intensified the sensations that had started with his  
feet.

The Colonel's brusque, matter-of-fact lecture on the facts of life  
hadn't covered anything like this, but Evans, the groom, had provided  
a little more practical information. It was normal for a boy's body  
to react suddenly, even to something that wouldn't be expected to  
cause such a reaction or to nothing at all. But Michael Karl hadn't  
suffered such unpredictable embarrassments for a couple of years now;  
it usually only happened when he was thinking of something arousing.  
He thought maybe the touch of another person's hands was something  
that _could_ be naturally arousing. But . . . a man's hands?

He'd read a book once that mentioned something about men doing such  
things together, and the Colonel had punished him with a month of  
close arrest when the book was discovered. But it only had very  
sketchy information - nothing useful at all - and he had never felt  
that he belonged in the same category as the men the characters in the  
book had laughed and sneered at. Perhaps he did, though, if just a  
few touches from a handsome man could make him feel as if he'd never  
be able to relax again.

At last he gave in and hunted through the drawer of the bedside table  
for a handkerchief. It wouldn't do to mess up a pair of borrowed  
pajamas, after all. Then he thought of Ericson wearing these pajamas,  
and his hand trembled with eagerness as he reached under the covers.

* * *

_"I suppose you expect me to get all hot and bothered over Jan  
thinking me young enough to enjoy milk, but I do."_

Jan had brought a tray for Michael Karl and relayed strict orders for  
him to stay in bed. A few minutes later Jan reappeared and a second  
dinner was laid out on the table across the room. Ericson passed Jan  
in the doorway and asked how Michael Karl's feet were feeling before  
sitting at the small table.

The American chuckled and held up a small vase that had been set among  
the assorted dishes. "Looks like Jan rescued your rose. I thought  
you had thrown it away."

Michael Karl scowled down at his roast duck. "I should have, but I  
guess I stuffed it in my coat pocket."

Ericson sniffed the blossom. "It's a lovely flower. Why waste it?"

Michael Karl just shrugged.

"It makes you uncomfortable?"

"I've never . . . I don't really know how to deal with women. There  
were hardly any women around, when I was growing up. My nurse, when I  
was little, and the cook, but I never saw much of her. There was a  
dancing teacher for a while, but she must have been fifty at least."

Ericson laughed. "Positively decrepit!"

"She had a face like a prune. I never really learned what to do when  
. . . you know."

"When a pretty girl admires you? Well, for a simple case like a  
flower being tossed at you, you don't need to do anything in return.  
Just appreciate it." Ericson stood and brought the little vase across  
the room to set it next to the bed. Then he laid a hand on Michael  
Karl's shoulder. "After dinner, we can work on advancing your  
education a little."

Michael Karl wrinkled his nose. "I've been reading those history  
books. What else do you want me to study?"

"The art of accepting and expressing admiration, for one."

"What, are you going to bring pretty girls here to flirt with me?"

The American laughed again. "No need for that. Morvanian custom has  
its own way of dealing with sexual double standards." He returned to  
the table and resumed his eating.

Michael Karl turned that over in his head for a minute, but it didn't  
get any clearer. "What do you mean by a double standard?"

Ericson dabbed at his lips with a napkin. "Just that men are expected  
to have a certain amount of experience before marriage, and women  
aren't. A girl who has sex outside of marriage risks pregnancy and  
disgrace."

"So . . . where do the men get their experience?"

"Precisely! That's the double standard. In most cultures, it means  
that some women will have to be dishonored - whores, in fact."

"But not in Morvanian culture?"

"In the mountains, and here in Rein, at least, they've retained some  
of the old Greek customs. I'm sure you've noticed that the Morvanian  
language has some strong ties to Greek as well."

"Er . . . I never learned any Greek."

"Oh, that's a shame. We'll add it to the list."

"But what customs are you talking about?"

"Just that it's fairly common here that when men look for sex outside  
of marriage, they look for it with other men."

Michael Karl felt a wave of heat sweep up his face, and the dishes on  
his tray clinked as he bumped it with his knee. He busied himself  
mopping up a bit of splashed milk with his napkin while he tried to  
think of something intelligent to say. "But, um, aren't men and women  
different? I mean, does experience with men really help . . . ?"

"There are differences, certainly, but many of the principles are  
still the same." Ericson was suddenly there, next to the bed, though  
Michael Karl hadn't seen him move. He half-sat on the edge of the  
bed and picked up the milk glass, handing it over with a small, amused  
smile.

Michael Karl took it with a hand that felt as if it had on several  
layers of gloves, and he drank so clumsily that some of it dribbled  
down his chin. He groped for the napkin he'd set down earlier, but  
Ericson was already reaching for him, holding him still with one cool  
palm against his cheek while he wiped the droplets away with a  
handkerchief. Then the American picked up the tray and carried it  
over to the table, giving Michael Karl a chance to catch his breath.  
His heart was pounding as if he'd just had another frantic run with  
the Wolfmen on his heels.

After a minute of stacking his own dishes on the tray, the American  
turned. "What do you think? Want to advance your education now?"

Michael Karl blinked. "Well . . . it's got to be more interesting  
than those history books."

Ericson smiled slowly - not his brilliant grin, but something more  
personal. He carried the laden tray to the door, set it outside, and  
shot the bolt. Then, with a curious intensity in his dark eyes, he  
returned to the bed.

* * *

_The American smiled with lazy admiration._

Ericson leafed through his mail and the replies Michael Karl had typed  
up. "Well, you certainly have picked up my system pretty quickly -  
and improved upon it. I don't know how I ever managed without you."

"I'm a fast learner." Michael Karl mopped up the gravy with his last  
bit of bread and popped it into his mouth with an impudent grin. "In  
more ways than one."

"Oh, so you're making progress with the language and history?"

"Mm-hmm. Not to mention those _other_ exercises you showed me."  
Michael Karl set his tray aside and pulled the letters from the  
American's hand, tossing them onto the bedside table. "Come here and  
we can go over them together."

With an indulgent grin, Ericson allowed himself to be hauled into the  
bed. "Actually, I thought it might be time to start the next  
chapter."

"And what's that?" Michael Karl was busy removing the American's  
clothes.

"Well, we've studied speech, and touch, and kissing -" Ericson gasped  
as Michael Karl demonstrated on a sensitive spot "- and intimate  
massage with hands and mouths. Now I think it's time for something a  
little more involved." He rolled and reached a long arm into the bag  
he had brought with him and left at the foot of the bed. He pulled  
out a bottle of scented oil.

Michael Karl pulled his mouth free. "More massage? I enjoyed that."

"Not quite, my dear boy. Now, lie on your stomach, and I'll show you  
exactly what I mean."

* * *

_"His Majesty," answered the guard with stiff pride, "left that  
there this morning."_

Before it was quite time to ride out, Michael Karl remembered  
something and popped into Urich's cabin. Sure enough, Ericson - no,  
the King - had forgotten about the little blue book on the table,  
with the lucky Tibetan rosary inside. The King had already left; too  
late to give it to him now. Michael Karl slipped the book into his  
pocket.

As he was leaving, he glanced back into the little room and frowned.  
"The only comfortable cot in the camp, eh?"

* * *

_"Do you think," said Michael Karl, "that I would miss seeing you on  
the throne after I had worked as hard as I have to put you there?"_

After the Doctor had left, Urlich Karl came to perch on the edge of  
the bed again, only this time somewhat closer to the head. Michael  
Karl looked up at him expectantly, trying to smile without using his  
cheek muscles.

The King brushed a light hand over the bandages on either side of his  
face - the large one on his right cheek, and the newer, smaller one  
on the left. "You shouldn't have goaded Laupt," Urlich Karl said. "I  
could tell he wasn't bluffing."

"You shouldn't have let him try to manipulate you," Michael Karl  
returned, catching the King's hand in his own.

"I was just stalling for time." Urlich Karl watched soberly as  
the boy lipped at his fingers. "Are you certain you're all right?  
Can you even move your head?"

Michael Karl craned his neck a little to one side and the other.  
"It's a little stiff, but not too bad. Come on." He pushed back the  
corner of the coverlet and patted the sheets at his side.

The King hesitated.

Michael Karl stilled. "Now that you're King, does that mean you can't  
. . . expand my education anymore?"

The dark eyes, so like his own, looked down at him. "Now that you  
know I'm your cousin, do you still want me to?"

"Of course. Come on, it's been ages!"

Urlich Karl laughed and bent to peel off his boots before slipping in  
at the side of the bed. "Don't exaggerate, whelp. It's only been -  
what, four or five days?"

"Seems longer."

"Like a lifetime." Urlich Karl bent to kiss him, but paused again as  
his hand encountered the bandages. "Listen, Michael Karl -"

The boy stiffened and levered himself up to sit higher. This  
didn't sound good.

"As King, I will have to be more discreet. And I'll be very busy,  
too, almost all the time."

"So you're saying you really can't."

"I can, but not every night. I don't want you to feel . . . well, I  
don't want to pressure you into anything."

Michael Karl studied the King. He felt certain that was desire he saw  
along with the concern in Urlich Karl's eyes. "Pressure, right," he  
snorted, and started undoing his cousin's shirt buttons. "Stop being  
stubborn and noble. Does it look like I'm being pressured?"

"Not particularly." Urlich Karl slipped a hand into Michael Karl's  
collar, caressing his neck and shoulder. "But are you sure you're up  
to this right now? Whether you realize it or not, you're covered in  
bruises."

Michael Karl paused and pulled the front of his pajamas outward so he  
could peek down them. "Huh. If I didn't know about that, how did  
you?"

"We had to check you for wounds, after you collapsed like that. Even  
when we didn't see anything serious, I was afraid there might be  
internal bleeding. I never want to be scared like that again, Michael  
Karl."

Michael Karl knew he had to distract the King from this line of  
thinking before he got into one of the dark moods he had displayed a  
couple of times in the house on the Pala Horn. "So, you stripped me  
naked in the Cathedral, in front of that whole crowd?" He glanced up  
mischievously, discovering again that it was painful to smile and  
trying to let his eyes do the work instead. "Isn't that what some  
people would call . . . kinky?" He dipped a hand into the King's  
shirt for a strategic pinch.

Urlich Karl groaned and pulled the boy closer to him. "Scamp. I'll  
show you kinky," he growled, and kissed Michael Karl in earnest.

"That is sort of the point," Michael Karl shot back when he had his  
mouth free for a moment.

By the time Urlich Karl got to sleep, he was thoroughly distracted  
from any dark thoughts.

* * *

_"But you really do look charming, my boy." The King raised an  
imaginary eyeglass and surveyed him through it. "That uniform is very  
becoming. You should always wear black."_

The King frowned and stabbed at his lunch with unusual violence.  
Michael Karl thought he must be worried about the trial, but a moment  
later the King murmured, "I didn't realize it was such a close  
business at the Cathedral Steps."

Sitting next to Michael Karl, Urich made a strange noise and put down  
his fork.

Michael Karl shrugged. "It was nasty for a bit, but Cobentz and the  
others could see we were going to win it or they wouldn't have run.  
Without their officers, and without machine guns, there was no way the  
rebels could hold out against cavalry."

"But you didn't know they had no machine guns, when you charged.  
_Alone._" Urlich Karl glowered at his young cousin.

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty," said Urich. "I had no idea what he was  
about to do."

Michael Karl snorted. "What would you have done, stopped me? It was  
the only thing that made sense."

"We should all have charged together. Instead, you were alone against  
that mob. When you went down, I really thought that rebel had killed  
you. Your Highness." Stiffening as he remembered propriety, Urich  
nodded to the head of the table. "Your Majesty."

Michael Karl wasn't worried about stuffy conventions; he ignored the  
King and looked straight at Urich. "I meant for him to think he had  
killed me. That was the point. It kept the mob off me for a bit, and  
you finished them off."

"I should have been at Your Royal Highness's side," Urich insisted.  
"That's the job of an aide-de-camp. If Your Majesty wishes me to  
resign my commission —"

"Hang on!" Michael Karl interrupted. "The Black Coats are the Crown  
Prince's command. It's my decision whether to keep you or fire you.  
The King has nothing to say about it."

"I would point out," said Urlich Karl dryly, "that the King has not,  
in fact, said anything about it." He gave Michael Karl a strangely  
twisted smile. "You sound exactly like me, you know, when I promoted  
Urich two years ago and the old King objected. I must say I don't  
appreciate being cast in my grandfather's role."

Duke Johann, who had been listening to all this with sleepy interest,  
patted his lips with his napkin. "As amusing as all this history is,  
perhaps we should get back to present concerns. What do you think of  
Cobentz's chances, your Majesty?"

The conversation returned to official business, and Urich even managed  
to eat a little of his lunch, with urgings from Michael Karl.

* * *

_Urich was a great deal more than an ordinary aide-de-camp. Since  
the hour when the King had called him into the forest hut and  
presented Michael Karl as his future commander, he had made himself  
guide, guard, and best of all, friend._

Michael Karl sighed as he sank to the bed and pulled at his boots.  
The evening had been amazingly boring, full of stuffed shirts and  
droning diplomatic speeches. Being recognized by England and America  
was enormously important, he knew - but did they have to put everyone  
to sleep while they were doing it? It was just like the weeks he had  
spent traveling with Oberdamnn and Kafner, a prisoner in silken  
chains.

At least this time he'd had Urich at his elbow, ready with an explanatory  
comment or a grin for one of Michael Karl's more sardonic  
observations. But it wasn't the same as being able to share with his  
cousin.

Michael Karl had thought earlier that the King must be lonely in his  
solitary position, as much a prisoner as Michael Karl had felt under  
Oberdamnn's control. Maybe a Crown Prince would be a welcome  
companion for the King, the closest thing to a social equal he could  
have. But the few times Michael Karl managed to approach Urlich Karl  
and talk to him, it seemed he'd adopted the royal persona so  
thoroughly there was no room left for friendship.

Today's coronation ceremony and the evening audience were the first  
time Michael Karl had seen his cousin in over two weeks - since the  
night after Cobentz was convicted, in fact. "I will be very busy,"  
the King had told him, and "not every night." Michael Karl hadn't  
realized he meant never!

But maybe Urlich Karl wanted it that way. Duke Johann had called  
Michael Karl a "pretender." Did the King think of him that way, as a  
rival and a threat? Was he still expecting Michael Karl to leave at  
the first opportunity? Did he _want_ him to leave?

He was staring off into nowhere, his boots forgotten until Urich  
crouched before him. "Let me help, Your Highness." He gripped one  
heel firmly to pull the boot free.

Michael Karl looked at the young man kneeling at his feet and felt the  
strange emotions that had been surging inside him all night focus down  
to something clear and hard. "Thanks, Urich. I don't know what I'd  
do without you."

Urich grinned, set the boots aside, and stood to lift the red sash  
over Michael Karl's head. He folded it carefully and then started on  
the long row of buttons that went down the side of Michael Karl's  
tunic.

Michael Karl felt a warm shiver go up his spine at the attentions.

Urich glanced up questioningly, and something in his eyes softened.  
He lifted a hand and almost - not quite - brushed the scar on  
Michael Karl's cheek. "I still can hardly believe you survived that  
charge. When that rebel fired and I saw you go down . . . "

Michael Karl snorted. "Come on, you'd known me for maybe twelve hours  
at that point. And most of that time I was sleeping, or asking stupid  
questions, or shouting."

Urich returned to the tunic buttons, his cheeks going slightly pink.  
"You find the measure of a man quickly in battle. I knew by then you  
were a true Karloff, and a true commander."

Now it was Michael Karl who began to flush.

"How long did you know the King before you were ready to die for him?"  
Urich asked pointedly.

"Who said I was ready to die for him?"

"You did, with your battle cry."

_The King! Morvania and the King!_ "Oh. Yes, well I suppose  
. . . but it took longer than twelve hours!" Michael Karl thought of  
his early acquaintance with the man he'd thought of as the American,  
and soon more than just his face was growing warm. "Two days, at the  
very least."

Urich chuckled and pulled the tunic free. He reached for the shirt  
fastenings at the same moment as Michael Karl, and their hands  
collided.

Michael Karl curled his fingers around the older man's and held them  
still, catching his gaze.

_Why not?_ he thought. This was, after all, precisely the sort  
of situation that Urlich Karl had been "educating" him to deal with.  
And it didn't look as if the King would have much need for him now.

He stood slowly and pulled Urich close, never dropping his eyes until  
they were close enough to feel each other's breath. He licked  
tentatively at the seam of Urich's lips.

Urich pulled back, his eyes bright and his breathing coming quickly.  
"I - Your Highness, I am honored -"

Michael Karl dropped his hands and scowled. "I wasn't trying to honor  
you. I wanted to please you."

"I am! You did. But I can't . . ."

Urlich Karl's lessons had covered graceful acceptance or rejection of  
an offer, but not graceful acceptance of rejection. Michael Karl  
tried to pull himself up with dignity, but it wasn't easy in stocking  
feet with his shirt half unfastened.

Urich was still trying to explain himself. "I don't want to hurt His  
Majesty."

Michael Karl felt a chill like a cold shower descend over his  
shoulders. He remembered the cot in Urich's cabin, and the book on  
his table. "Get out, then. I won't need your help any more tonight."  
He turned away and began fumbling with his shirt for something to do,  
even though he didn't want to be bared any further to Urich's gaze.

"Your Highness, I - I'm sorry . . ."

"Go!" Michael Karl snapped, then tried to soften it a little. "I'll  
see you at the banquet in the morning." After all, it wasn't Urich's  
fault that Michael Karl had completely misread the situation, was it?

A moment later he heard the door snick closed, and he cast himself  
wearily onto the bed. It was his eyes that prickled with heat now.  
"Damn," he muttered into the pillow.

* * *

_"Didn't want you!" and the way Urlich Karl said it settled all his  
cousin's doubts forever._

At last, Michael Karl was lying in the enormous royal bed he had seen  
that day he discovered the secret passage. He found the room much  
less intimidating with Urlich Karl beside him. It was only furniture,  
after all, and the satin sheets were rather nice.

The sheets were thrown back at the moment, since they were both rather  
heated, and Michael Karl was just beginning to recover his breath. He  
felt a warm, callused hand tracing the edges of his shoulder blades,  
and he turned his head to grin at the King. "We should do that every  
night."

Urlich Karl chuckled. "I only wish we could. I'll have more free  
time when we're at the Summer Palace."

Michael Karl remembered something, and his grin faded. "What about -"  
He broke off.

"What?"

"At dinner, Duke Johann was saying you'd have to get married."

"Not right away. I have a perfectly good heir -" At this, Urlich  
Karl's hand moved a little lower for a hearty slap "- so the  
succession is in no danger."

Michael Karl made a face. "That just means _I'll_ have to get  
married!"

"Only if you want to, whelp. No reason we should both have to  
suffer."

"But won't your wife - a Queen - wouldn't she object to this?"  
Michael Karl waved between the two of them.

"That depends where she's from. If she's Morvanian, she'll likely  
have a similar arrangement with one or more of her ladies in waiting."

Michael Karl was arrested by the image. "They can do that?"

"Of course they can, silly boy. But, Michael Karl . . ." The King  
brushed his cheek again. "If she does object, I'll have to try it her  
way, at least for a while. I mean to make a proper try at it, even if  
the match is mainly diplomatic."

Michael Karl nodded solemnly. "I understand."

"But that's years in the future. In the meantime, we have the Summer  
Palace to look forward to. And I think there are a few chapters of  
advanced material we haven't covered yet." With a grin, the King  
leaned in to nip at Michael Karl's earlobe. "And if I'm too busy, or  
too old to keep up with your youthful desires . . ."

This time it was Michael Karl who slapped the King in a tender spot.

"Stop that, whelp! I was just going to say that you do have other  
options, you know. I'm sure Urich would oblige - he's become very  
fond of you."

Michael Karl stiffened.

"What's wrong?"

"Urich." Michael Karl sighed. "I offended him the other night by  
making an offer."

Urlich Karl frowned. "Why would that offend him?"

"He thought it would hurt you." Michael Karl closed his eyes. "Were  
you . . . with him?"

"Yes, but not for over a year. Since before the old King died."

"But . . . in the camp, in the mountains, you said -"

"Said what?"

"That he had the only comfortable cot."

Urlich Karl looked puzzled for a moment, then threw his head back and  
laughed. "The most comfortable in the camp, I said, but that wasn't  
saying much! And it was hardly big enough for two. You should know  
that - you slept there yourself."

"Just slept, though. I was exhausted."

"So was I. I was supposed to return to the Werewolf's headquarters  
that night, but I was nearly asleep on my feet. Colonel Haupthan  
offered his cabin, but Urich said his was in a quieter spot. Then,  
when we were out of the Colonel's earshot, Urich whispered to me that  
the Colonel's bed sagged as badly as his chin."

Michael Karl laughed. "So you didn't do anything that night?"

Urlich Karl kissed him lingeringly. "I was too tired, and too busy  
worrying about you, young whelp. I suspected you might be getting  
into trouble in my absence, and I was right!"

"I'll have to apologize to Urich. Or explain, or something."

"It sounds like I should do the explaining. I wonder why he thought  
it would hurt me?" Urlich Karl returned to tracing pattern's on the  
cooling skin of Michael Karl's back. "He must have realized I was  
afraid of losing you."

"Oh. I didn't think of it that way. We could both explain it to him,  
together."

Urlich Karl grinned wickedly. "Excellent idea! The Summer Palace  
should be private enough for that."

It took Michael Karl a moment to figure out what the King was  
implying, and then his face heated all over again. "What, all three  
of us — together?"

"That's one of the advanced topics I was referring to," said Urlich  
Karl, kissing him again.

Michael Karl found parts of himself beginning to take a renewed  
interest. "In that case," he murmured, turning toward his cousin, "I  
think we'd better review some of the earlier material first."

**Author's Note:**

> Spoiler for the book: The American = Ericson = Urlich Karl = The King = Michael Karl's cousin. This is not the same as Urich, a separate character.


End file.
